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What's The Fare To 
Argyleville 

7 



By Arthur G. Leisman 



What's The Fare To 
Argyleville 

7 



By Arthur G. Leisman 

Illustrations by Author 



(Privately Printed Edition) 






(Copyright 1921, by Arthur G. Leisman.) 



©CI.A611155 
Merrill Daily Herald Press Merrill, Wisconsin 

mn I / 192! 



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W^h batik t0 b&mgig h^Mtateh to 

(Haven't decided yet. — Author) 



Dear Guy: 

Every time I begin to write I feel plumb tired 
and out of peptimism, so I waited until tonight 
before answering your Epistle No. 2023 or there- 
abouts. It was so good I didn^t need my dinner 
that day but ate it just the same. 

I am laboring under the opinion that the Torrid 
Zone has been extended to up here by the Parcels 
Post Department — it is so sizzlingly hot the grease 
melts from me like lava from a volcano's side. I 
could eat a whole iceberg if any was for sale. I 
camped near the Brown ice house one evening but 
had to evacuate the next morning on account of 
the flood caused by my presence. So betimes I am 
using patent hair restorers for their cooling effect. 

My flivver ran away the other day. I don't 
know what got into its head, but seems like it was 
out for a spree by itself. I couldn't stop it; if I 
tried to, it would balk and back up, and if I put 
on the brakes it would give the shivers, kick up 
its heels and then head for San Francisco at light- 
ning speed. A kind, sympathetic telephone pole 
saved the day. I simply turned it over, dusted its 



2 WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 

pants, adjusted its spectacles, and after righting the 
whole hunk of cheese it behaved enough to haul me 
home. What funny things we have to endure ! But 
this gasoline buggy sure can come across with the 
goods any other time. All I lost was a cuff link, 
one-fourth of my cheerful disposition, a nut, and a 
bag of caramels that the grocer gave me for pay- 
ing the bill. 

Say, I heard from that abbreviated gentleman, 
Johnny, not long ago. He bought a book on eti- 
quette, is unmarried, works in Sparta, and writes 
Greek as usual. It takes a Yerkes' Observatory 
astronomer to make eyes, nose and mouth out of his 
scribbling. Maybe it's because he's a human col- 
lapsible telescope — knew that your own tin lizzie 
was a back number and at the same time refrains 
from comment. Also heard from Mr. Crouch of 
chanticleer fame. Seems to be a bright fellow and 
very economical. Instead of perfuming his letter, 
he substituted hair tonic. 

Of course, Guy, I plan on coming to see you 
next week. But what I said before was that this 
visit can't cut much ice in July. I admit that my 
continued trips to Walnut Hollow to see Bess has 
just about put the kibosh on my pocketbook, but 
you ought to reason that to hitch your wagon to 
the Star of Success you're got to have a girl on top 
of it. Going to Argyleville to see you is a differ- 



WHAT'S THE FAEE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 3 

ent proposition. It results in no signal develop- 
ments in one^s heart. But if all's well on the Pot- 
omac, I might hit the trail anyway Tuesday. So 
look for me, Guy, on the 6:45, and if I ain't there, 
you know I ain't there, but if I am there, it is 
I am. 

What's the fare to Argyleville, please? I went 
to the soda fountain store this noon and asked the 
deaf-in-one-ear druggist, ^'I say, what is the fare 
to Argyleville?" "What?" says he. "The fare to 
Argyleville?" I repeats in pipe-organ tones. "Oh," 
says he, hfting his eyebrows, owl-wise, "You mean 
gargle oil for your flivvette? Has she got the hic- 
coughs or a twisted appendix, huh?" "No!" I re- 
turns, indignant, "You'd best invest in an acoustic 
if you want your ear-drums to behave. I said, 
WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE?!!!!!" 
"You're a fine bunch of gratitude," he rears up. 
'T've taken the time to hsten to your phonograph, 
trying to distinguish the human voice from the 
metallic sounds, and here you — git!" 

Of course, Guy, I had to lit out, for besides be- 
ing assistant depot agent, this druggist has a cousin 
whose grand uncle's step-son is deputy sheriff some- 
v/here in the Klondikes. Some people don't appre- 
ciate things. When you buy a nickel's worth of 
taffy from them, they are all smiles and act taffy, 
but when you come to them to have a sliver taken 



4 WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 

out of your hand, you find nobody at home. 

I can't think of much to say. News is as scarce 
as hair on a frog's back, and this here typewriter 
squeaks and palpitates painfully under the heat. It 
is so hot you have to brush the brine from your 
lamps before you can see to write. And the chair 
I am sitting on waxes sarcastic. I discovers just 
now that my Sunday pants sticks to it like it was 
a sheet of fly-paper. Consarn the weatherman! 

Well, it's time to hit the hay, anyway, but I 
don't know how I can ever submit to the embraces 
of Morpheus. The mercury is making it lively at 
400 degrees F., and I generate enough steam even 
at sitting position to run a donkey engine, and ly- 
ing down between adhesive cotton sheets might 
mean a process of evaporation from which no sea- 
farer returns. 

Yours till I return. 

Bud. 



Dear Guy: 

I have been guilty of first degree neglect in 
writing you, but I will wager the evidence is strong 
enough for a plea of pardon. The grounds sub- 
mitted are that since I emigrated to your home and 
railroaded it back to Merrill, I have been kept as 
busy as the propellor of a biplane, and that as a 
consequence I now feel tired enough to take a Rip 
Van Winkle nap. 

I enjoyed the visit hugely. You seem to have 
enough of hard work on the farm for the likes of 
me — that is, I like to see you at it. Of course, I 
had to sidetrack at Walnut Hollow on my way home 
to show Bess this here coat of tan. Maybe it con- 
vinced her that her future looked safe and sound, 
but I don't think the stable smell on me made a hit. 
Every time I edged up close to her, she would get 
up and say the garden needed sprinkling, or else 
go to the door to let the cat in. There is a fellow 
across the street that is stuck on her. I didn't 
know there was a secondary consideration until I 
springs a surprise on Bess by coming to Walnut 
Hollow unannounced and unheralded, and I finds 



6 WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 

her in a drug store with that fellow eating ice cream. 
She never batted an eye when I looked at one and 
then at the other, and when I afterwards asks who 
that son of a gun was she just coughs a little, looks 
at her wrist watch, and says, **0h, he's on the six 
o'clock shift." I didn't ask more but I said if some- 
thing needed an airing I was quite up to snuff on 
that job. She just tee-heed. I don't know what 
she means by "six o'clock shift," Guy, but I ain't 
mad at her. Only, som^ething seems to need a Con- 
gressional investigation. I ain't figured on how to 
begin and where, but you can bank on it if that fel- 
low is a Bolshevik in my affairs I'll steami ahead 
with the throttle wide open. 

Well, Guy, how's your flivver? It isn't much 
compared with mine, I observe. I remember riding 
in that old push-cart twice and it was enough, tho' 
I never told you so. It tore up the road alright — 
it made a mess of the splendid roads down there. 
We have a couple of rain barrel hoops that you can 
have for a song. And they won't give you any TNT 
explosions or cause wicked words to emit from your 
vocal centers. In English language, they are punk- 
ture-proof. 

Three things I don't like down there in Argyle- 
ville. Everything is fair except the bill of fare 
and the fare to Argyleville. Besides, fishing is on 
the blink. I couldn't induce the finny tribe to take 



WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 7 

dinner with me. They seem to know what's up my 
sleeve — they are too college-educated. When yoa 
push the hook through an angleworm, spit on it, and 
let down the line and bimeby you get a school of 
them around the hook, and you could swear on your 
very wishbone that it means a haul or two, along 
comes some inspector who sniffs at the worm and 
takes a chemical analysis of the surroundings, and 
before you know it the latest ''Extra" is off the 
press and all the fish have backed away from you. 

Seems strange to be alone again, after such a 
visit. It put the knockout blow on my $$$$$ but 
it was a humdinger, wasn't it, Guy? 'Member that 
time we had to borrow a she-horse to haul your 
sardine-can-on-four-wheels through mud and rain. 
I knew all the while your tinhorn junk of lead wasn't 
worth a crawl, but I don't blame you any. Men are 
apt to make misbargains when attracted by gold- 
fish. 

But I must apply the brakes right here and put 
the typewriter to bed. Write again, sing-song kitty, 
and don't forget to put in enough gasoline when 
going up a hill. 

Your tooter-tutor. 

Bud. 



Dear Guy: 

I take pen in hand, etc. The telephone is out 
of order or maybe I am suffering from an ailment 
that is a cross between Jumping Jupiters and ultra- 
laziness. Whatever it is, I shipped back the type- 
writer last week. It worked fine but the free trial 
ran out. 

Well, I just scratch the top of my hayfield dome 
and kill a flea or two (consarn the pen) and up 
bobs a spicy specimen of ingenious intellectual at- 
tainments, to quote my diploma, and in another 
wink of your eye-dimmers you have the dope com- 
monly called the **body of a letter." 

Things have happened in a grape-cluster style 
since I last dispatched you a letter. First, let me 
introduce yours truly as Efficiency Expert in the 
Cauliflower Potash & Canning Company (branch). 
The boss elevated me one step when he remarked 
how well I could keep the dust off his private rev- 
olving office chair before work time. He didn't ex- 
actly say Efficiency Expert, Guy. He just said I 
didn't have to come to the office early any more 
but that it was eight o'clock for me like the rest 

8 



WHAT'S THE FAEE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 9 

of the help — I mean staff — so he could personally 
see me attending to my work. That's what I call 
Efficiency Expert. Of course, you can't get the drift 
of it, Guy, but it is the same as waiting upon His 
Excellency, ready to point out suggestions and leak- 
age of the heart at an instant's notice. Only, you 
still have to sweep the floor, etc., and the boss him- 
self keeps an eye on you, not you on him. 

I took a "leave of absence" one day last week 
and went blueberrying. My jitney was at the gar- 
age being half-soled, so I borrowed my brother's 
ante-bellum bicycle. It carried its load pretty well, 
and the berries in the pail sure did pile up at the 
rate of sixty miles an hour, until by accident I 
bumped unadmitted into a colony of hornets. Seems 
like no "Danger" sign had been put up in red paint, 
or maybe the gentlemen — I mean the gentle hornets 
— were too busy over the wet-and-dry question of 
their own world. Anyway, my intrusion was prompt- 
"^ ly resented and just as promptly disposed of by the 
sergeant-at-arms, who planted a red hot one into 
my system. Then the embattled stingers forgot the 
eighteenth amendment, adjourned sine die and 
started to gird themselves for immediate ruthless 
warfare. Fortunately, they were not quick enough 
for my Apollonic legs. Half of my berries suffered 
a hasty retreat in this second Battle of Bull Run. 

But this does not end the cruel tragedy. Hardly 



10 WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 

had I got out of the woods and mounted the wheel, 
headed for the home stretch, when I was seized with 
a shivering illusion that in all probability the enemy- 
was still pursuing me. I worked the pedals up to 
their zenith power and av/ay I did fly. The pail I 
had in hand swung back and forth with rhyth- 
mical regularity until it missed a syllable and col- 
lided forcibly with my left knee — that is, my knee 
working up and down shot at the bottom of the pail, 
swerving the wheel sharply to the right, and I went 
sailing into the dust and took the count. When I 
had picked myself up slowly like a jointed carpen- 
ter's rule it seemed as if East was West and North 
was South. I took the wheel by the scruff of its 
neck, started to legomobile it home, and discovers 
all of a sudden that the rest of the berries in the 
pail had gone over to the debit side of the ledger. 
So I had a berry-less supper. I still nurse the grouch 
like it was some be-ribboned poodle-dog led about 
on a string by some society fuss. But my promo- 
tion at the office soothes me as much as axle-grease 
on a flivver's sore throat. 

There are other things to tell you and others 
that should be kept under guard of a safety-valve. 
Once in a while I start working myself up to six- 
teen-cylinder velocity, but tonight I find my pep 
strapped down to the last belt-hole. So I will call 
a hitch to this letter. 



WHAT'S THE FAEE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 11 

Yours Efficiently, 
Bud. 
P. S. When you write be sure to put a postage 
stamp on the envelope. The last one didn't have 
any and the envelope flap was open — that made the 
letter awfully dry. A little moisture with a kick 
in it, please. 



Dear Guy: 

And so help me Hanner, it was a whale of a 
letter that you wrote. I didn't know you could dish 
out kingly stuff on a silver platter in seven reels 
complete, war tax paid. You are a cracker jack 
when it comes to chasing the blue clouds away. 
Some folks only possess peanut hulls. And their 
"am well and happy" and weather talk is about as 
worn out and straggled as a tomato-can-on-four- 
wheels that has seen service forty times over the 
Rocky Mts. Of course, I am not saying that you 
copied the stuff from "Cream 0' Harvest" and 
Punch magazines, but your edition de luxe sure did 
read like it had passed through the sausage machine 
of a staff of editors and come out immortalized. I 
guess it made my flivver laugh. It gave the shivers 
when I rolled the letter up and poked it through 
the gasoline tank to see if it needed filling. 

It seems a shame the way Maggie doesn't give 
a fig for your presence at her home. She's a queer 
old duckling who doesn't appreciate a fellow's ef- 
forts to sing his heart out. You should remember, 
however, that you can't depend on everybody for 

12 



WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 13 

your dinner. Perhaps she isn't the one that would 
hitch up right with you. But ''faint heart," etc. 
So why not show the dash of Sir Lancelot and the 
speed of the steed of that immortal Ichabod Crane. 
Don't heed the ancient creed against onions. Eat 
'em — she knows you will eat 'em anyway after you 
have paid the minister the customary fee. But I 
am not qualified to preach. Bess isn't fully won yet. 
It hasn't come up to the high water mark. I wrote 
her about that fellow again. She said if I doubted, 
the books were open for inspection. She said the 
fellow was a Sunday school friend of hers. But 
what gets my three-year-old goat is the "six o'clock 
shift." I looked up Webster's Unabridged Diction- 
ary but it wasn't there. I guess Noah never had 
a girl. 

Went to the movies last night with myself. It 
costs too much to take somebody along. I am glad 
in a way that Bess lives two hundred miles away. 

There was a party of the Epworth League the 
other night. We had to dig up twenty-five cents 
each for the weiner-roast. I did amicable justice 
to five sandwiches and thus squared up the account. 
The girls looked askance at me and one fellow with 
a tut-nose wanted to know if I knew some of the 
twenty-five cents was meant to go to missionary 
work in China. I guessed at once he was joking, 
Guy, and I said he'd better think of a harder nut 



14 WHAT'S THE FAKE TO ARGYLEVILLE ? 

to crack. Then he got mad. Some folks don't ap- 
preciate bouquets, eh, Guy? 

Well, I must switch off and take down the fiddle 
and twang a tune or two to Bess. Sometimes I 
think my love letters ought to be bound into book 
form, copyrighted, and registered. Every time I 
read them over before sealing, I seem to detect a 
genius. 

I smell potato pancakes, so must evacuate now. 
Wish I could be at your farm this evening, though. 
Yours till the cows come home, 

Bud, 



Dear Guy: 

I thought you had burned the wind for New 
York and won't write till your wanderlust had run 
out of storage battery, but I see you are safely 
tucked away under cover at home with your pet 
sub-automobile and promiscuous Adam's apple. The 
delay was something like waiting three hours for a 
train at a junction city, but you sure can spill the 
ink when you write. You seem to reel off your 
yarns smooth as a river that slips by and no one 
can tell whether you are deaf or a Walt Mason v/ith 
his 9,851 kinds of patent medicine for rheumatiz. 
It makes small diff so long as you can crank up 
your mental steam roller and set it a-humming. But 
I must cut short my chautauqua eloquence, else 
your chest measurements increase too soon. 

Gee whiz, Guy, you ought to hear from our good 
old Johnny these days. He sent me a piece of his 
well-known cake Monday and I remember having a 
stomach-ache shortly after reading same. I guess 
it is because he chases his own shadow at home, 
waiting, waiting for some one to cross it. So I'm 
going to send him a prescription — an advertisement 

15 



16 WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 

from a stray, unsophisticated magazine: 

MARRY RICH 

Hundreds of men and women want early marriages. 
You can marry rich. Three months' trial for 25 cents. 
Money back if not satisfied. 

Gee, but this sure is some ad. Only twenty-five 
cents a throw, and if you don't hit the bull's eye 
the quarter goes back to you! Can you beat it? 

I wish you could see my tinboat now, Guy. It 
had never taken a bath until I went fishing yester- 
day with a fellow that runs the telegraph office at 
Henfruit Junction. The lake we went to was a big 
one and you had to go way around it to get to the 
other side. But my flivver sure can mix anything 
from Nut Sunday to Ash Wednesday. It swam 
clear across and never turned around to see if Sodom 
was burning. When we got off and shook a leg, 
we hired a boat and went fishing. All day long the 
sun blazed upon us with tropical intensity. All day 
long our seats grew harder and harder and still not 
one of the creatures of the sea w^ould nibble at the 
hook. Finally we threw a plug of tobacco into the 
water and when the fish came up to spit we hit 
them over the head with the oars. 

Andy (that was the fellow's name) and I had 
seventy big ones together and I guess we've had 
enough of it until doomsday. I feel fishy and smell 
after fish and wherever I go I seem to see fish, fish, 



WHAT'S THE FAEE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 17 

fish, and when I lay me down to sleep even the bed 
sheets smell like they've been slept on by the fish. 
Phew ! 

Say, I am thinking of going to Alaska. Want 
to come along? Life here at the office isn't what 
it was cracked up to be. It means work, work, 
sweep, sweep, dust, dust, every day with no variety 
to break the monotony except when you step upon 
a wad of gum near the stenographer's desk. And 
besides, I ain't sure about Bess. Why not league 
together and form a committee of ways and means 
to make life livelier. Suppose you and I write poetry 
and make it pay our way up to the Arctic regions. 
Tell you what, Guy, I will start the ball a-rolling. 
Here's No. 1, and when we have quite a collection 
it ought to make Tennyson rise from his grave and 
take notice: 

Save all your praise 

For Hiram Sliwer; 
He invented 

The greaseless flivver. 

I'm figuring we ought to strike it rich up there 
and then when we come sailing back with bells on, 
Bess and Maggie will regret their hesitancy, cry a 
lot and beg to be forgiven. But I'd hold my head 
high, turn my back to Bess, and after pretending 
to think seriously, I'd turn to her, lift her up from 
her knees and say gentle-like, 'Turn off the hy- 
drant. Thy sins are forgiven," and marry her like 



IS WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 

they do in the movies. It ought to make double 
column, front-page news matter. Of course, I am 
not counting chicks before they are out of the shell ; 
I haven't any setting hen around here. 

Hope you are getting along fine with your spin- 
ning top. I suppose it has grown enough by now to 
wear long trousers and begin to shave. I shouldn't 
wonder if it snorts, scuffles, and kicks in this fall 
weather. Every time you harness this invertebrate 
piece of cheese, see if it has whooping cough or the 
bee-hives. It wasn't very healthy-looking last time 
I was there. What it needs is love and attention. 
Look these up in the dictionary. 

Yours flivverly, 

Bud. 



Dear Guy: 

I see where you don't care a hick about writing 
to me, so I will make this letter as brief as possible 
and as interesting as an epitaph in a Chinese grave- 
yard. The last one blew in from you quite a while 
ago and all I could milk out of it was unconven- 
tional questions and a weather forecast. I suppose 
that if I were to make a plaster cast of your letter 
it would feel on the surface like the relief map of 
the Rocky Mts. with no green turfs and trees, but 
just plain, dull putty color. You used to bang out 
fireworks coupled with an ambulance wagon race in 
your epistles, but now I feel no more wind. I may 
be too liberal with hints as to what the nut fac- 
tories need to swell their roll of honor, or else you 
are busy dusting your shoes and straightening your 
four-in-hand every time you feel a flutter in your 
left side. Whatever it is, it looks like business is 
dull between us. 

I am at home now, convalescing from a done- 
in-red operation. You remember the growth just 
above my left eye on my forehead that felt more 
like the back of a mushroom? Well, I had the doc 
yank it out, and he did. I thought I could stand it 

19 



20 WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 

without the apphcation of chloroform, and I guess 
it tested my soul and chances of being a martyr. 
They had two nurses to hold my arms and two to 
keep down the lower extremities of my body while 
the M. D. ripped, riveted, massacred, steam rollered 
and played the pick axe freely upon my temple. I 
thought every bit of my innards was going to come 
out with the haul — he had to rest both his feet on 
my body and pull for all he was worth. I could only 
feel the siz-zag pains and hear the harper and see 
the Jordan river looming up to me, but they tell 
me afterwards that when the doc got this whatyou- 
callit out of my system he dusted the floor with his^ 
white pants. I was pretty sick for a while as can 
be testified by the fact that Bess sent me a box of 
smoked sausage, but now I feel like sawing wood. 

Well, the plan to go to Alaska is called off 'cause 
you seem to hitch the whole affair to a garbage can 
the way you skipped this subject-of-import in your 
letter. It makes me as much peeved as a wet hen, 
still I guess it is for the best after all, as Bess has 
patronized the parcels post department, and the box 
wouldn't have come if I had "flown the coop" for 
Alaska, would it? 

I must put up the receiver now and call it a 
day. You don't write often enough to make lem- 
onade out of, so here goes. 

Relentlessly yours. 

Bud. 



Dear Guy: 

Your letter drifted in just now and I see where 
you got off at the wrong station. You have swal- 
lowed the bait, angleworm, hook and all, when it 
was meant for the Eastern publishers and not for 
you. I didn't mean to be so relentless as that, and 
I never dreamed you would take my ''Relentlessly 
yours" as an ultimatum and roll up your sleeves and 
draw a ''dare you" line across the dirt. Do I hand 
you a slap-on- the-f ace just because I imagine your 
letters were worthless junk? Have I the heart to 
dish out gaff where the shoe would pinch enough 
to make you feel like a duck in a thunderstorm? 
Fiddle-de-dee ! pish ! pho ! in the name of the Prophet 
— figs! 

But if you want to make the dust fly, come on 
in, the water's fine. My warring flivver and I are 
incorporated ready to mete out justice where justice 
is due your pony-cart with flexible gears and short- 
winded garden hose tires. You big piece of cheese, 
can't you take a joke? Can't you see which is black 
and which is white? If I tell you of a maniac that 
escaped from an asylum, stole a car, took two China- 

21 



22 WHAT'S THE FAEE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 

men out for a ride, and this car got stalled on a 
railroad crossing with the usual consequences, would 
you understand what I mean when I tell you that 
when the train crew went back to the crossing to 
see what was left, all they could find was a nut 
and two washers, huh? You haven't got enough 
rhyme or reason to be sliced up and distributed 
among the sampling judges at the Annual County 
Fair. And your little coo-coo tinhorn of a choo- 
choo boat is a slot machine sort of an affair — you 
put a few plunks into the slit, ring the telephone, 
and out it tumbles into your lap ! Oh, I could think - 
up new-fangled things that would make your pink 
toes blush with shame, but I will take the lenient 
side of the duel, if any. It is as ticklish a job to 
knock the chip off your shoulder as to let the cat 
out of the bag on who the girl was that went with 
the boss in his car last night. Can't you, for the 
love of Johnny-get-your-gun, see that the editors 
might reject my materials if they get to be dyed 
red ? But I guess you've calmed down by this time, 
as it is the wind that makes the windmills go, not 
the windmills. And it isn't breezy all the time. 

I hope you'll take back the piece of your mind 
you offered me, and keep it for yourself. It might 
disable you for life otherwise, as one cannot think 
clearly without all the engine parts functioning 
perfectly. 



WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 23 

Well, I got to quit now as this is about as long 
as yours was. And I need the rest for fish-line. 

Reservedly yours, 
Bud. 



Dear Guy: 

Yours to hand. Contents digested, etc. It was 
a dish-rag proposition alright. 

Well, if you insist on your negotiations for some- 
thing dire to the peace, prosperity and happiness of 
both parties to the contract, ship back all my Xmas 
presents to you, f.o.b., and call the game. Or else, 
as you suggested, come up and we will lay the cards 
face up on the table and show which is a spade and 
which is not. Personally I think you'd better hike 
this way in and sign peace treaty terms, 'cause I 
don't want to cut off this end of the corresponding- 
line. You see the publishers are keeping an eye on 
this like it was a stock exchange ticker, and for all 
of me they might invest in my works if I keep 
above batting average. 

I shall nip this letter in the bud and look for 
you. Hunting is fine hereabouts now, so don't be 
a wild cat. 

Till then, **Clang battle-ax, flash brand." 

Bud. 

24 



Dear Guy: 

Well, now that you are back home to papa and 
mama and your pet mechanical-toy-on-four-wheels, 
and can look back to the visit here as something of 
a ninety days' wonder with all trimmings, footnotes 
and references, and dwell on the phony deer chase, 
the Versailles home-made treaty, the Hudson car 
we pushed over to the ditch with my flivver, ain't 
it something to reckon about as to how after the 
storm comes sunshine? 

But what is ice cream to me is the fact (tee, 
hee!) that you brought your shot gun up and went 
home without so much as having made the fur fly! 
The rabbits probably had read of your arrival in 
The Daily Herald and had turned tail and headed 
for the four compasses of this sphere long afore you 
came to the scene. Seems like your eyesight needs 
a new pair of Eastman Kodak lens, or else your pop- 
gun was a counterfeit, guaranteed to take back and 
swallow its own medicine. Anyway all you could 
poke a musket-ball into was a tame red squirrel that 
came out of its nest to see what the rumpus was 
about. 

25 



26 WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 

I didn't take you out deer hunting 'cause I knew 
you'd be arrested for disturbing the peace of hun- 
ters' paradise. I would advise you to practice your 
cannonading in the back yard with the hen coop as 
the target. You could probably borrow ma's dish 
towel and put it over the wall so that the bullets 
V70uldn't make holes in it. 

I'm glad you see things as they are and that a 
joke is a joke for a' that. I missed you the mom- 
ent you went away with the train, but when I got 
to thinking of Bess, why, I wondered what I was 
mooning around for. 

This is an awful dull day. Nothin' doin', 'cept 
sittin' down and listenin' to the heart-beat of me. 

Bess wants me to spend Xmas with her, so I'm 
beginning to wash my ears again. Wonder what 
you and Maggie will do that day. I observe you 
both are nearer the goal than I am, but he who 
waits gets the best. 

Can't keep the thinkum sifter going. The next 
door neighbor is tickling the piano keys to the tune 
of "When Adam Beat the Parlor Rugs for Eve." I 
thought at first it was a cat mewing. 

It snowed today and made me think of my poor 
Lizzie. But she can climb Pike's Peak, crawl under 
the canvas of a circus tent, or plow a path through 
the snow for her cousins to follow up. No wonder 
you have to stay south with your consumptive- 



WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 27 

looking hand-organ. 

Well, it's time for curfew, so here's Scotch 
Cocktails toast to the idol of Rabbitland, the cham- 
peen I ever knowed. 

Yours till they take your picture. 

Bud. 



Dear Guy: 

I wonder if you think I am as dead as the poem 
I sent to the editor of Munsey's magazine and which 
is still unaccounted for. Honest, Guy, I've wanted 
to call Central and connect up with you, but I've 
been so doggone lazy and when I wasn't lazy I was 
taking electric treatments and some liniment ap- 
plication that has got Pete Bengard's pete skunk 
beaten all hollow. My rheumatiz-infected knee feels 
like it was a string of telegraph wires swaying in 
a thunder-and-lightning storm. Gosh, how it does 
hurt, but to have a semi-trained nurse for my mama 
and to reside pro tempore in Bess' home as a con- 
sequence is going to be as good as a hundred mud- 
baths in Hogwallow Town. 

I had a right merry Xmas just the same. The 
folks propped me up in a Morris chair near the 
Xmas tree and, believe me, I felt like I was the lost 
heir to the crown at this home. Old Santa surely 
had my name in his note-book long before it came 
time for the roll call. He gave me everything from 
Genesis to Revelations. Got the Dr. Quake's Kid- 
ney Remedy calendar with your best wishes from 

28 



WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 29 

you. Thanx. It isn't much compared with the ticket 
I sent you to the lecture on *'Nuts and Where They 
Come From," by Professor Himself one at the audi- 
torium at Milwaukee. It set me back twenty-five 
cents, or one-quarter of a dollar. I don't think you 
have the right Xmas spirit, but I ain't blaming you 
any. Men are apt to look into their selfish needs 
first. Bess gave me her first kiss, a pair of artificial 
silk socks and lots of other things that belong to 
the department store ads, not here. 

It seems Old Sol has been flirting considerably 
with King Winter so the thermometer was quite 
able to be up and do as he pleased without being 
called down. Yesterday it snowed seven feet deep 
but today the water wagon was out sprinkling the 
streets. 

Friday night Bess' ma and pa — or, in other 
words, my future parents-in-law — made home-made 
sausage. Real, old-fashioned kind. I tumbled into 
bed just before the town clock tolled "Twelve o'clock 
and all's well." All's well for the poor little piggy. 
His inner self is jazzing it somewhere beyond the 
clouds to the strains of *T love the cows and the 
chickens, but this is the life — oh, this is the life!" 
And they don't serve any rheumatiz pains on a tray 
up there, either! 

Bess' ma — or, in other words, my future ma-in- 
law — woke me up one morning with interjections of 



30 WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 

alarm that made me think as if the old world had 
blown up and got stalled on the road. There was 
a live, ferocious, man-eating mouse in the pantry, I 
am informed. So I jumps out of the bed, dives into 
my blue serge hand-me-downs, and limps to the 
three by seven room with a rev — no, with a pine 
slab — and a flashlight whose battery had spent half 
of its life-time already yet. No sooner was the door 
closed and I was alone with the creature and som^e 
kitchen ware, cold chicken meat and pastry goods 
than the battle royal begins. I strikes out at every 
count here and there, rattling the dish pans, and 
sending the mouse on the circuit like a self-winding 
Xmas toy that keeps up uniform speed. I slams 
the floor and bangs the bread pans and sends the 
roller-pin rolling down, and the pine slab keeps get- 
ting its sides full of fur, but Mr. Mouse is there 
on deck. There is a ripping of pants and a hunk of 
flesh comes out from the palm of my hand before 
I lands a telling blow and the movie thriller is over. 
Bess said I was going to be a brave man some day. 
I asked her if I wasn't brave already, and she s; yz 
no, I was only as brave as Miles Standish in a way. 
I don't get the drift of it, though, but I laughed 
just the same and said I knew what she meant* 
Diplomatic, that's me, eh Guy? 

Will go home as soon as I can think of going. 
In the meantime, Happy New Year, Guy, and don't 



WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 31 

forget your keg-of-herring-on-four-wheels needs oil 
of sardines so it can keep up time. 

Yours till the next nut crop, 

Bud. 
P. S. I just found from Bess that "six o'clock shift" 
means in case of my death that fellow across the 
street is the next one on the waiting list for her. 
Otherwise I'm as good as won. 



Dear Guy: 

I am still laid up in bed at Bess' home with what 
the doc says is lumbago but which I figure is some- 
thing dished out by the weather sharp to put me 
under it. Just now I am enclosed in flannels, slug- 
gishness and axle grease, but a week in bed has 
"suttinly" tuned me up to a point where Dempsey 
might as well cast his eye hitherward. I feel like 
a cow just out on the first green grass of spring, 
except that my appetite runs short of equal measure. 

I received your two ''improved with modern con- 
veniences" letters, one while I was shooting sky- 
rockets at their best in bed. Makes a fellow feel 
good to hear from you when he has to warm the 
bed instead of keeping the cash register on the go. 

Speaking of snow, I haven't been out yet, and 
so don't know whether the white spread yonder is 
a splash from Wm. Pahl's paint brush or the real 
article. As soon as I gets up and hits the breeze 
from the Polar regions, will wire you, collect, war 
tax extra. 

I have had good care all the way through ex- 
cept that the undertaker forgot to lift the latch-key 

32 



WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 33 

and so I went minus a vision of Kingdom Come. 
You know, Guy, I had it figured out that if this 
country has run amuck over the ouija board and 
is sitting up nights with ghosts in the attic, I might 
as well write a book on such lofty thoughts instead 
of this epistle, but I now see I must be patient 
with this second rater and take castor oil by the 
quart, 

I read four Sherlock Holmes detective stories 
yesterday before I knocked off for the night, and 
you couldn't have had for the life of me spent a 
more miserable night. I dreamed of bloodhounds, 
of guns, of dangerous explosives, of thick-necked 
thugs, of steeple-jacks and a chase in the cran- 
berry swamps where Miss So-and-so of multi-mil- 
lionaire parentage was held for a ransom. It was 
fierce dope mixed with lumbago pains and liniment 
fumes, and the worst part of it was when I got 
shot in the head three successive times — bing-bing- 
bing — and then I woke up in a pool of sweat. Hon- 
est, the stuff the doc feeds you with is guaran- 
teed to make you perspire as much as is necessary 
to wash the bed blankets with. It takes a game 
heart to live through these assorted phases of life. 
No wonder I have to mop my brow a lot. 

I'm sorry you've decided to cut out giving birth- 
day presents, but if it is for the good of yourself, 
your Maggie, and your coffee-grinder-on-four-feet, 



34 WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 

it is all the same to me. Because — well, I ain't fig- 
uring on the future on a bet. You never know which 
way the wind blows. I have read over the almanac 
you gave me Xmas seven times and I find it as in- 
teresting as the age-old problem of whether the 
moon is made of porous cheese. Consequently 

When I was down to your farm I tried to im- 
press upon you the importance of giving something 
for Xmas, etc., in a way that would make the giver 
feel he was part of the gift where it meant dig- 
ging deep into the pockets for the shillings, but 
such suggestion, I see, never cut much grass any- 
way. It was about as effective as the burrowing 
into the hole of that gopher we trailed and had 
your dog do the rest, last summer. We sure had 
a whoop of a time, didn't we, Guy, and to see that 
shepherd dog ploughing up whole trenches before 
the gopher finally hoisted the white flag has got the 
movies beaten all hollow. 

Bess and I are having lots of private conferences 
together. I said PRIVATE, so save your ink and 
don't get too inquisitive. I think she is ready to 
say "I will" any time, by the looks of things, but 
I will not make the proposal formal or official until 
Miss Spring comes drifting in. Then, if ever, the 
world is going to knock off work one hour to pay 
tribute. I ain't figured on you doing likewise 'cause 
I don't expect news of you and Maggie getting mar- 



WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 35 

ried going into anywhere but the last wedged-in 
column of the Argyleville Bi-Weekly Lemon, rates 
6 lines 15 cents, ten cents down, balance on terms 
to suit editor. What's the fare to Argyleville? 

But I must quiet myself and take it easy as 
it is a Hercules job to write with one hand — Bess 
is holding the other and feeding me (censored). 
Yours till my birthday comes. 

Bud. 



Dear Guy: 

Well, I'm back to my old bimk at Merrill, and 
that infernal lumbago has just about packed up and 
vamoosed. But the cold in my dome still sticks to 
it like a tom-cat to a tree when you attempt to 
shove it off with a fish-pole. I think the office will 
be relieved of anxiety tomorrow when I report for 
duty again. I have a logical theory that my pres- 
ence there as Efficiency Expert is as essential as 
gunpowder is v^hen you want to pump lead into 
tame red squirrels. 

Day before yesterday I made twenty-five home 
runs in my life, and my batting average is still 
above .300. The birthday dinner Bess' ma — or, in 
other words, my future ma-in-law— gave me was a 
farewell meal too. It was an affair that has got 
the Hotel Astor banquets trimmed to a neat T. You 
may fancy well the tons of sauerkraut, weiners, dill 
pickles, smoked sausage, mashed potatoes, and what 
not, together with the birthday cakes necessary to 
feed the whole family. There were seven covers, 
but they say I was good for four that day. After 
dinner Bess and I played hero and heroine by our- 

36 



WHAT'S THE FAEE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 37 

selves, with Cupid as a go-between. The number 
of arrows discharged, flown, delivered, fired, was 
legion, and Bess said she was sure the flu would 
have to seek new customers after this. You know 
when you are in love you get the grip; when you 
are not, you get the flu with all its frills and em- 
broidered edges, without charge, tax paid. I had 
to leave at 2 o'clock despite the fact that I felt al- 
most incapable of motion — the dinner had its effect 
as far south as Dallas, Tex. The sidewalk toward 
the depot was so slippery that I once got a vision 
of Jupiter in all its glory and the contents of my 
grip had such a shake-up that they all hurried away 
to seek shelter. Bess collected them together, res- 
cued my cap, and laughed for all she was worth. I 
thought maybe I had two or three broken ribs, so 
as I could stay with her longer, but since I knew 
my boss needed his Efficiency Expert I decided bus- 
iness comes first. 

The ride back home was like pulling a loaded 
sled up hill — you feel heavy-hearted as distance in- 
creases between you and your Paradise Found. 
Nothing broke the monotony of the trip save a 
few stops at a few silly towns and the intermittent 
shouts of the brakeman who must have been born 
with a factory whistle in his mouth. 

Bess gave me a kiss or maybe two and said that 
was all she could afford to give for my birthday. 



38 WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 

I said, philosophic-like, that it was alright and that 
when we get hitched up some day I would give 
her the necessary fund with which to buy me some- 
thing substantial. It was a case of postponing the 
birthday present, Guy, which is better than you 
gave me, which amounted to as much as 0. I some- 
times feel myself drifting away from you, Guy. I 
think only sapheads don't know any etiquettes on 
remembering a fellow-being on his birthday. Of 
course, I ain't calling you one, Guy; I'm only solilo- 
quizing. That's a big word; if you don't know what 
it means, never mind. Not everyone is born with 
the same sum total of knowledge. I suppose you 
are jealous because Bess seems a better bargain 
than Maggie, but — avaunt with your hand-organ 
and imitation nurse-bottle rubber tires! 

Well, I must close up shop as my club awaits 
me (Yes, James, you may drive up to the front 
with the electrically lighted super-six) and they say 
that a new debutante is to make her bow in society 
tonight. I got to see her, Guy, so tarry a while 
ere I light my Havana and put on my dress shirt 
and silk lid and Prince Albert cut-outs. Well, here 
I am, dolled up — ^but only to bid you adieu. Sorry 
I can't take you along. Our members belong to ex- 
clusive society and we don't want any farm-reared 
guys with green eyes and lop ears to heave their 
frames in view and crush the tender toes of No. 2 



WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 39 

feet ladies. 

So long. Hope you will be a good little boy and 
go to sleep before the sandman calls and dream of 
far-off isles where lemons grow on vines, where 
kings raise sideboards and queens dip their hands 
in yeast foam, where nuts are plentiful the year 
round and flivvers sell at sacrifice prices. 

Yours as long as I am at a safe distance. 

Bud. 



Dear Guy: 

What! I thought you would kick the bucket and 
throw seven kinds of fits, and here you say my last 
letter was a silver medal trophy and worth more 
than a caramel. That's right, Guy. Take things 
with a grin and don't be a dead dinghumbob push- 
ing up daisies from beneath the sod. Come-pretty- 
pussy stuif is alright for short-winded, weak- 
hearted, thin, ghastly-looking gasoline buggies. But 
you — why, man, haven't you something stronger in 
your gastric region? And isn't it true, after sum- 
ming up calculations, footnotes, and Sunday Supple- 
mental reviews, that the publishers are keeping an 
eye on these Articles to the Constitution of Fun? 
I see where daylight is beginning to find new abode 
in your out-of-style, two-by-four, eight-hour clock 
works, and I am glad for that, Guy, as I am itch- 
ing for a sofie-pillow job on the magazines. You 
don't want to be a fidgety old maid and spoil the 
plans and specifications of yours truly, do you? Of 
course not. When I play the fiddle, can't you dance 
in tune? The magazine editors can handle the fin- 
ances of the floor themselves. And the gate receipts 

40 



WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 41 

ought to put the Wall Street trade mark on our 
backs in less time than it takes your tin hammock 
to start getting- warmed up. 

Say, I am figuring on hiring myself out as ad- 
vertising manager. I see where the dailies they 
turn out haven't much to attract even lukewarm at- 
tention. All the ads seem stale and trite, and I 
reckon I can contribute something valuable to the 
kingdom of newspapers. The idea, Guy, of ads is 
to attract. If I keep this in mind, I ought to beat 
the Chicago Tribune in the final relays. It is only 
an embryo idea just now. But see if I am not 
bang up to snuff: 

WANTED — Donkey or goat. Must be reasonable. 

WANTED — Young Scotch girl wants position as 
general. 

FOR SALE CHEAP — Horse, good for garden work 
if taken at once. 

IF YOU are looking for something that will satis- 
fy your appetite, try our baked goods. We still have 
All-Leather shoes at reasonable prices. 

LADY WANTED — Young, acquainted with dental 
supplies and to pick teeth. Dr. Hoof. 

LOST — A half poodle dog. Reward if returned to 
Mrs. Lofsim, opposite Quality Meat Market. 

FOR SALE — Pair of broncho horses. Good weight, 
sound, broken. Owner in hospital. Address L. B. Schell. 

FOR SALE — Pedigreed white Angora female cat, 
8 months old. Just brought from Elm City, Montana. 
Selling on account of baby in family. Can't take care 
of both. 
My boss says I am too good for the office as it 

costs a lot to run me, and it makes me want to 



42 WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 

pat my own back and say to myself "Hear that, old 
scout! Opportunity higher up calls." And so I'm 
looking around for advertising manager work. I 
think it is rare to receive such compliments — being 
so good an employe as to be too good to be kept 
in a dingy office. 

You write about cold weather. Can't you for 
the lovamike take some of ours? We've enough of 
it up here and are shipping surplus stock down south 
to save our necks. The sidewalks are so slippery 
here that one sees in general free exhibitions of 
modernized Fiji dances. 

I am beginning to think that my bachelor days 
will soon be on the blink and married life will soon 
hatch. It may be out of the shell when June-Buds 
beckon. I think Bess will accept my proposal with- 
out reservations by the looks of her letters. I ex- 
pect to bee-line it for Walnut Hollow again next 
week and get definite and conclusive, written-in-ink 
decisions. 

Well, I have run out of yarn now, so will close 
and give your digestive organs a rest. 

Yours as far as it goes. 

Bud. 



Dear Guy: 

Yours, dated 23 B. C, arrived at last. It was 
so antiquated and moth-eaten that I could masticate 
only parts and fractions of parts with relish. The 
rest I think I will send to the Curiosity Department 
of the Museum of Animals at New York City. It 
was so old I could smell Egyptian mummies and 
King Pharaoh's cow in the backyard. It must have 
been written by a grand-cousin to the fellow who 
struck a match to see if the gasoline tank was 
empty — it wasn't. 

Merrill was snow-bound yesterday and so I 
couldn't get a special to take me down to Walnut 
Hollow on official business. But will surely hit the 
trail as soon as everything's back to mean temper- 
ature. We had premature spring weather a few 
days until Old Man Winter got jealous and chased 
it round the corner. And as he went, it started 
to snow. Tonight you could hear him yet. A cold 
wave is whipping down from where they say is the 
North Pole, but that I figure is where Peary's oil 
heater went out or got tipped over by some stupid 
white bear scratching its back on the foot-railing. 

43 



44 WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 

It looks like spring is canned and pickled for a couple 
weeks more. 

Fm still looking forward to June, nothwithstand- 
ing. Have been stalking the past week for a nest. 
Of course, it will have to be analyzed, labelled, copy- 
righted and passed by the National Board of Cen- 
sorship. Sometimes it grieves me to see my bach- 
elor days go. They have been so good to me that 
it seems cruel now to give them death certificates 
and an undertaker's hearse ride. And then, too, I 
have to scrape to save plunks and iron men. All it 
costs to get a passport upon the matrimonial sea, 
really, is a pastor and a county clerk's signature. 
But one wants all the trimmings thereto. If this 
wasn't a funny old world, gosh, I'd like to live in a 
tent like an Injun and hunt profiteers' scalps with 
tomahawks and poisoned arrows, believe me ma. 

I think that Bess and I will get along beauti- 
fully when married. The fellow that she went with 
before I came across her path wasn't worth a part- 
icle, she says. He broke her heart once and then 
wrote her this letter (keep mum, Guy, as Bess says 
no one should read it as it would reflect on the kind 
of fellows she used to go with) : 

Dear Miss Friedham: 

Say I would just rite ua few lines to let u no 
I still love u. 

Wouldn't u like to have a true frend, I havent any 
girl at present time. If u would care to keep company 



WHAT'S THE FAKE TO AEGYLEVILLE? 45 

with ME your chance is good. I no I broke your heart 
once but I will never brake your heart AGEN no other 
girl heart. I hope u aren't soar at me at present. I 
felt so bad over it that time. Hoping u forgive me 
averything. Maybe u & I could make up agen deer. 

I am not a fancy riter haven't riten a love letter 
almoste 3 years. At present I would like to have the 
best girl in Walnut Hollow. The last letter u riten 
to me June 23, 1918, I cant read that letter at all must 
of read it hunderd times already. U must thought a 
lot of me Tuesday 23. I said to myself Bess must be 
sick or something is the mater with the deer girl. I 
beleve I will have to — sometime hopping in the near 
future. Don't care for another girl I love but u. U 
are the only girl I take so much intress. And if I would 
live so long & get married to another girl I whonte 
be happy nor u will. 

U will be soar in the future marke my word Bess 
deer. 

U got a chance to be my Sweetheart heart egen 
if u ans. soon as possible. I can tell u a lot of that ho 
was all against u but I don't whant to tell u onless u 
make up agen. Hoping u will soon be well agen wish 
u best love & lots of love & hundreds of Kisses. 

From Clarence Hammerthrower that loves u. Ans. 
Hoping to receved ans. Bess deer Sweetheart. 

I'm not that kind, Guy, as my love letters run 
along the lines of Browning- — only I never dare com- 
pare Browning's with mine. 

I was over to see if I could sell some of your 
alleged non-explosive lamps in the County Home, 
the other day. The supt. told me I would have to 
wait until electricity goes out of style. And then I 
tried to demonstrate them to the tenants thereof. 
They all were interested in the lamp, Guy, but just 



46 WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 

when I felt sure I had a transaction safely anchored, 
they told me to charge 'em up to the supt. I left, 
indignant. That set me to thinking why Bess and T 
can't reside in this flat and live free, and write 
books and take life gosh-darned easy. But as to* 
your kerosene lamps, I don't know as how I will 
take one myself. I haven't anybody to charge it 
up to just now. 

I heard the other day that man is like some 
old kerosene lamp. Not very bright. Often gets 
turned down. Smokes frequently and often goes 
out at night. Of course, I am not mentioning you, 
Guy, but your being agent for the lamps has set 
me to thinking. 

Well, I hear my Old Faithful snoring in the 
garage, so I think I'll wind the alarm clock, read 
the weather forecast in your almanac, put the cat 
outdoors, and go to see Bess on dreamland's en- 
chanting shores. Of course, three's a crowd, so I'll 
pull down the shade now. 

Yours till it's over, 
Bud. 
P. S. I just heard tell that the tracks will be clear 
tomorrow, so it's me for W. H. Look for big an- 
nouncements in Milwaukee society columns. 



Dear Guy: 

The lid is off! Ah, woe's me! Why should I 
suffer thus? Why all this lamentation, why this 
tearing of hair and gnashing of teeth? Who would 
think that a bomb of infernal, irreparable grief 
should burst unwarranted in my face? ME — who 
has striven to live up to the tabulations and decrees 
of a honest to goodness Tennyson hero-worship 
lover! ME — who should be spumed, rejected, ta- 
booed, vetoed, and tabled for indefinite postpone- 
ment by Bess! 

And yet I am here alone, Guy! Alone! That 
awful, hollow-sounding word! Alone — like a for- 
lorn, ship-wrecked sailor marooned on an unmapped 
island, the loneliest in a lonely sea! And I turn my 
eyes appealingly to you — what is the fare to Ar- 
gyleville ? 

It was that shrimp of a shrivelled fig-stone, the 
fellow across the street, who upset my instruments 
of live. It was him — HIM who thought he could 
prove that muscles are mightier than the love-pen! 
I was bent on surprising Bess with my visit, Guy, 
and had alighted from the train and was taking a 

47 



48 WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 

short cut towards that temple of love — her home — 
when that fellow bumps onto me, grins a little, and 
acts sheepish. I says, "Whaddya want?" He rears 
up like a grouch with a promiscuous equator and 
wants to know if he didn't have as much right of 
way as I. 

I don't recollect much, Guy, but we were taking 
measure of each other's lamps and beaks till I con- 
nects one with the southwest portion of his face, 
and he rolls all of a heap into a sand pile. When 
he comes up spitting gravel and interjections, Bess 
heaves to in view. The fellow pleads that I had 
wheels in my head which didn't turn right insofar 
as he never had known Bess much outside of being 
her Sunday School classmate, and I, seeing Bess 
coming, hastily forms myself into a Court of Ap- 
peals committee of one, grants amends, dusts his 
pants, and acts amicable. When Bess at last comes 
up, I tried to explain. Honest, Guy, I never begged 
so hard for anything as I did for a wholesome, dyed 
in wool, yard-wide understanding. But Bess moons 
over that fellow, pats his face tootsie-sweetie like, 
looks daggers at me, and says, insultant, "How 
dare you! Coming sneaking around in this alley, 
spying on me, and spoiling the Sunday School class 
complexion. You — you dirt of the scum! You 
white-livered thing! Of all the infernal deeds of 
man, why, you can do the cake-getting slick as a 



WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 49 

whistle! You- YOU! And yet you call me your 
love! Oh, thank goodness, it is a case of finding 
out the quality of the meat before the nut is 
cracked !" 

So I'm back home, Guy, back to my old bunk 
with poison-labelled bottles looking javelin-like into 
my own eyes ! Things are blankety-blank-blank, and 
I don't care an owl's hoot what happens! I thought 
that to be a hero one has got to show the stuff he 
was made of, but I guess I got the wrong end of 
the thing when I used my long-range gun! And 
Bess just naturally turned her back to me and strut- 
ted away with that fellow in her arm — like a pea- 
cock in full gorgeous array! Ah me! When will 
I ever smile again to the rising and setting sun? 
When can the moon again call me back to youth? 
I'm aged, old, wrinkled, stoop-shouldered, shaky, and 
devoid of feeling. I don't know — but when I die I 
will want this epitaph penciled on a shingle and 
placed on my unsodden-by- tears grave: 

AN EPITAPH 
Here, reader, lies a patient gink 

Of Isaak Walton fame; 
To every fish he tried to wink, 

But none cared for his name. 

Then he hooked one that was a dream 
And pulled with skill and care; 

But when the fish came up to him, 
And saw his red, red hair — 



50 WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 

"0 this is sudden, bo; I must 

Ask daddy first," she cried, 
And dived — and he who bit the dust 

Soon of heart failure died. 

Yours till I cash in, 
Bud. 
P. S. Everything's safe and sane. Bess is won. I 
wrote the above fiction merely to make you for the 
moment feel the thrills of pink joy, and this P. S. 
assuring you briefly that my proposal was a dynamic 
triumph is destined to turn you emerald green with 
the pangs of envy all of a sudden. I am doing this 
to help you see the different colors of life, remem- 
bering the rides in your old, invertebrate tin-boat. 



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